


Shout It From The Rooftops

by hopefulundertone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rooftop scene, Sheriarty - Freeform, a bit angsty, but not really, i guess, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulundertone/pseuds/hopefulundertone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rooftop scene AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shout It From The Rooftops

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for this, one because I might have gotten the dialogue wrong (please correct) and also because it's terrible.

They positioned the corpse perfectly, tying the knot around its torso so that it dangled on the edge of the ledge, waiting for the slightest tug to release it. It was a fine day, if a bit brisk, and Sherlock could feel the sun shining on his back, as he sat there with the consulting criminal. "So after this, where to next?" Sherlock shrugged. "Well, you've won, so at a guess it's up to you, this time at least." Jim smiled, but underneath, he was a bit concerned. More than he had been in years, but he wasn't that worried. "Well, I hear Europe is nice this time of year."  
Then John arrived, and Sherlock could feel his phone buzz. Jim peered over the edge. “Your live-in’s coming. Are you sure you want to do this?” He smirked at the tall detective above him, who scowled back. “Don’t call him my live-in. He’s a…a…friend. He’s my friend.” His manner and body language was screaming at Jim to shut up.  
The consulting criminal turned away. He hadn't any actual knowledge of how Sherlock was feeling; he’d never had a true friend, they were all much too dull. Except for Sherlock, but then again, that was why they were doing this. But he respected Sherlock, sort of, and the detective was doing this for him. So he stopped the retorts on the tip of his tongue and nodded silently, the equivalent of an apology from anyone else.  
Anyone ordinary.

Sherlock took a deep breath. Stepping back from the edge, he nodded to Jim, who waved over the building at the people in place before they both sat back against the chimney, Sherlock sighing for a moment.  
Then Jim’s phone buzzed and the consulting detective picked up the rope that lay slack beside him, dialling a familiar number, one that seemed ingrained into his fingertips, yet one he knew he’d probably never type again.  
“John?”

John gazed up at the figure on the roof, tears filling his eyes. “No, stop it, Sherlock. Stop now, please!”

Sherlock shushed Jim as he snickered. “Isn’t that what people do? Leave notes?”

He jerked the rope and the corpse bearing his face and fingerprints flew down, limbs flailing slightly. For a second, Sherlock blinked, not believing he was…gone. For a second, he wanted nothing more but to rush to the edge and yell, reassure John he was alive and well, but he knew that if he did, when he turned around, Jim would be gone. Forever. Then the moment passed and he smiled. It was one or the other, and no matter how he might feel about the soldier below, the man sitting beside him would be the one to take his hand and dance on the edge of insanity. John grounded him, made him feel human, but with Moriarty he knew they would take flight, and Sherlock knew which he wanted more. 

Jim glanced at him and they chuckled, giggling like little girls. Sherlock grinned, but the expression slipped slowly off his face as he stared at Jim, whose face he’d never seen so…open. Free. For so long, the same features had been masked by so much malice and smugness, but now they lay open, vulnerable, for Sherlock to disassemble slowly, taking the consulting criminal apart to see how he ticked, and he knew that at the same time Jim would do the same to him. He didn't mind. 

The smirk dropped from Jim’s face as he gazed at the detective. The amount Sherlock had sacrificed…  
For him? It was an alien concept, that someone, especially someone as intelligent as Sherlock, would throw it all away. He didn't think he would do that for anyone, but he supposed technically he was doing it as well. He didn't especially mind, it too had gotten boring. 　   
Slowly, he leaned forward, as the other did the same. Their lips connected, sending an electric thrill through Sherlock’s veins. It was nothing like kissing John (it had been an experiment and he was 68% sure John didn't remember it). John had been warm and solid and reassuring, but the consulting criminal's lips were cool and held a promise of something. Something wild, unpredictable, and more than a little insane. He liked it. 

As for Jim, he could suddenly see the future. A future where he wouldn’t be so bored. A future where he wouldn’t feel like killing, others or himself. A future with actual intelligent company.

 

A future with Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes, I think Europe will be fun."


End file.
